Do You Hear What I Hear?
by sansone
Summary: The team takes part in a Christmas concert, thanks to Abby. Holiday fic, Kibbs UST/romance and fluff. Written for Jeanniefan78 in the 2014 SeSa Fic Exchange on NFA.
1. Kate

_AN: _Part 1 of 6 (will post the rest soon). Hope you enjoy :)

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><p>"What do you mean you can't sing?" Kate is trying to stay calm, take deep breaths, but all that 7-11 is crap, crap, <em>crap. <em>She is pretty sure she is squeezing the life out of Abby's forearm, but her friend is not saying a word because she has – _clearly – _lost her voice. Kate has seen horror films – not quite as many as DiNozzo, but she has seen her fair share - and still, this is one heck of a horror film. She is about to walk on stage and sing a flirty duet with her boss. Shut the front door.

And she's got to call him _baby_.

_Sorry, _Abby signs, and coughs, a little too promptly for Kate's liking. Good thing she's picked up on a few basic signs.

_What is going on here?_ First Gibbs agreeing to sing at the concert, and then Abby catching a cold, too sick to sing, too sick to speak? If she didn't know any better, Kate would say she was being set up, but that can't be. Right?

Kate narrows her eyes at her, panic subsiding, quickly replaced by flaring nostrils and a set of pursed lips, seeking a compromise, _any _compromise. "How about Tony?"

Abby's eyes blow wide open, a tell-tale sign that's out of the question. "Tim? No?" Kate sighs, running out of options. "Jimmy? He's a bit on the tenor side, isn't he?" Abby giggles, surely amused by Kate's valiant effort to find herself an understudy. "_Well, _okay, I guess I'll just have to ask Duck. He and Gibbs can totally blow this out of the – "

"Can we?" A deliciously teasing voice whispers in her ear, and Kate right about jumps in her place, startled. _So, _that's why Abby was pointing and gesturing and trying to get her attention. _Right. _

"Hmmm." She slowly turns around, coming face to face with Gibbs, who doesn't feel the need to take even one step back. No, he is right here, sporting a full-blown grin and a Santa hat_. Ho-ho-ho and a Merry Christmas to you, Kate._ "I'm pretty sure you can," she says, a glint in her eye, then turns around to leave, sucks in a breath when his hand comes round her waist.

"Let's duet, Katie," he murmurs, wriggling his eyebrows at her, and she can't help but giggle. It's not like her, and she clasps a hand over her mouth, but the damage has been done. He looks at her, appreciative, and nods courtly. "I take that as a yes."

Behind them, Abby laughs, and Kate is pretty sure that's a _Yes!_ she hears (so much for having a sore throat). "We haven't practiced the song," she murmurs, scrunching her nose, hoping her facial muscles would muster a glare – even a baby-scowl would do.

"Bless you?" Gibbs looks puzzled and Kate realizes she must be looking like she's about to sneeze. _Lovely. _He looks at her, scrutinizing her every feature. "That time in the car. I was humming the song, and I sure heard you –"

"—you can't be serious, Gibbs – "

"Ay, Captain, very serious." He brushes a strand of hair from her face, adjusts her antlers. "Cute," he whispers, almost to himself, but Kate hears him, tries to ignore the shiver that runs down her body. "Sing with me, Rudolph," he murmurs after a pause, calm eyes set on her, but there's a challenge in them, a spark that is what ultimately leads to her nodding.

An excited squeal rings through the air, and a perky Abby comes between them, draping her arms over their shoulders, can barely catch her breath to say, "I knew you guys would figure it out!"

_Definitely a set-up._


	2. Gibbs

_7 days earlier_

It's past 8 on a Thursday and Gibbs is still at work, typing away to the sound of carolers and the relative quiet of the bullpen. But he's got a report to finish and an empty house to go home to – not quite the incentive to be efficient. He doesn't think about it too much – it hurts to think about it too much – but there were times when he didn't dread this time of year, when hanging candy canes around the house, and lighting candles to put on a Christmas tree, _their _Christmas tree – _be careful, Jethro, it's a fire hazard_ – wasn't unbearable but something he looked forward to.

_Now, _he takes the shift on Christmas day and is sent all sorts of gifts from grateful colleagues, people who otherwise would look down and mumble a hello, too afraid to speak up, but who, in the name of the Christmas spirit, are more than willing to let their appreciation be known. Though receiving _Honey Dust _from DiNozzo that one time is something he could have gone without – even if it makes a woman's skin feel silky smooth (_even_ if it tastes like honey when kissed).

Gibbs shakes his head, slightly amused at the memory of a flustered Tony scrambling to make sense of the situation and come up with an explanation because _clearly, it was a mistake, boss, guess that's why Gloria's been screening my calls..._ He tries to regain his focus, but a certain melody creeps in his head until its incessant tugging is a tugging at his ears, not just his brain. There are people singing in the office!

Reluctantly, Gibbs takes a peek round his computer screen, curious eyes seeking the source of the noise, _well, okay, _not noise, but sound, harmonious, well-layered sound. When he sees no one, he resists the temptation for a moment, naturally, leans back in his chair, hands cradling the back of his head – right before he springs up to his feet, _dang it, _and goes on to do what he does best, _investigate. _

He walks down the stranded hallway, the chorus getting louder and louder, and _oh, _he sure hears what he hears – Ducky's baritone is not something he'd have trouble recognizing. With curiosity taking over and reason riding shotgun, Gibbs skips – _yes, skips _– the last few steps before he arrives at a rather vocal interrogation room. Certainly, no criminals sing joyful odes to Christmas when they're about to spend it all locked up and –

The door is open just a crack, and he comes closer, straining to see what's going on, but there's a whole lot of clues that give the resident carolers away. He can see Kate's coat draped over that chair (in fact, he can smell her perfume, but that's beside the point, ain't it?) and if he tilts his head at just the right angle, he can make out Bert, the farting hippo, sprawled on the floor in anticipation of being stepped over. _Then_, another tiny step closer and his suspicion will be confirmed; it _is _McGee who's doing the conducting and DiNozzo making funny faces behind his back. Gibbs shakes his head, can't help the little grin that splits his face for a moment – right before he realizes his whole team is here, and he is the only one who wasn't invited.

_Okay, _it's not that he cares because he doesn't – it's that simple (_really_). He doesn't sing and he's not cheery; he's the Grinch and if he wasn't busy writing that report (and sneaking up on his team's rehearsal), he'd be stealing Christmas, and shipping it back to the North Pole with no return label.

Just as he's about to storm back to his desk, the next verse starts and a voice he's come to now well, a voice which wouldn't, _doesn't, _hesitate to go against his word does a run, an ad lib, and he's a goner. Kate may be timid at first, but her voice is open, clear, and he finds himself closing his eyes, just _listening _to her soft tones, the way her voice dips down in all the right places, adding texture to the song, telling the story. He takes a shaky breath because his Kate is a singer and he never knew.

The end of the song brings him back to his senses, the chatter and bustle of people bundling up shakes him into awareness. Rehearsal's over, and Gibbs realizes with horror he'll soon be discovered, all dreamy smile and this close to taking a nap on the floor, lulled to sleep by Kate's sweet, sweet voice. And so he gets up, walks back to his desk. Time to order takeout.


	3. Abby

_6 days earlier _

Abby's jamming hard to a song, an extra bounce in her step as she exits the elevator and walks off to her lab. Strangely enough, the light is on, but she doesn't pay much attention to that, her hands holding ghost drumsticks and playing air drums in staccato rhythms. She pushes the door open, skips to her workstation and takes a long slurp from the CafPow, conveniently placed on top of her desk. _Huh, hinky. _Abby shrugs to herself, but takes off her coat and drapes it over her chair, lets out a little scream when a hand touches her shoulder, light but firm.

She swings around, tugging her headphones down at the same time, and _wow_ can the boss-man be any sneakier? He's grinning at her, but her heart's beating like crazy and she slaps his chest, a bit too harshly than intended, – it's still fair punishment, _alright_ – squeaks a high pitched, _Gibbs!_

_"You're late, Abs," _he signs, then gives her shoulder a squeeze.

"And you're not," she says, out of breath, but with good excuse; the man should have been a ninja, _clearly_.

"Nope," he says, one corner of his mouth lifting into a small smile. _"Okay?" _he signs, brows knitting tightly together, and she nods, still a little shaken but feeling much better now that she's found the hand of interest belongs to her boss (and not a serial killer).

"You heard of calling someone's name, Gibbs? Like, _hey, Abs, I'm planning to sneak on you, but here's the heads up so you don't have a heart attack. _That would have been nice, Gibbs, you know that –"

A smirk tugs at his lips – his trademark – and Abby has to restrain herself, count to ten, not to slap him again – and then she does because she knows she'll get away with it.

"I did," he says and takes a big sip of coffee, raising his eyebrows over the rim of the cup.

"Well, do it _louder, _so I can hear you. And if you're here for that blood sample, I haven't even gotten to it yet, Gibbs. _Man, _aren't you impatient." She shakes her head at him, but he doesn't even flinch, gaze steady on her, as though he's – _judging her. _"I had to extract DNA from the tissue sample, Gibbs, the one you found at the scene? And you know how long that takes. I was so busy last night, I couldn't –"

"Busy," he murmurs, then takes another sip of coffee.

"Yes, busy, Gibbs, _so _busy_, _I told you I –"

"Last night."

And now he's giving her the Gibbs glare, typically reserved for criminals and/or reckless team members. Abby has no clue what's going on, but she knows one thing – Gibbs is grilling her, and that's, _that's _not how you want to start your day off.

"Giiiiibs." She pouts and sees his resolve melt because he's biting his lip, which in Gibbs-speak means, _"I am trying really hard not to use my words, but you're making it impossible." _And then he speaks.

"I want in."

_In? He wants in?_ "What?"

"Your singing, uh, group. Thing. I want in."

It takes her a moment to understand what he means, but then she starts laughing because, _because, _he's Gibbs and he's sort of blushing and frantically looking over his shoulder as though afraid someone will overhear them. "Sure." She grins then pulls him in for a tight hug. "I'm so glad you changed your mind, Gibbs! You know, the concert is next week, but we can totally catch you up on everything and –"

"Changed my mind?"

Abby pulls back to look him in the eye, a little appalled. "What, you thought I wouldn't ask if you wanted to join us for the benefit? It's for the penguins, Gibbs! If we get enough money, who knows how much yarn we can buy, how many sweaters we can knit and then we'd just have to send them to Antarctica and –"

He leans closer to plant a kiss on her cheek, visibly relieved by her words. _Okay, _even if he totally ignored her when she first asked about the concert, it doesn't matter now – they got themselves a silver fox and he shall be forgiven.


	4. Tim

_4 days earlier_

"Why so grumpy, McGoo?" Tony asks, squatting down beside Tim, who's been taking photos of the crime scene.

_Snap. _Tim can hear Tony, can hear the loud chewing noises he makes, and is quite tempted to turn around and punch him, – figuratively – but he doesn't. What's the point anyway? Tony is _Tony _and that's what he does. Abby – on the other hand – caught him off guard with her announcement this morning. _I'm singing with Gibbs, Tim. I don't think I can do another duet with you –_

Tim sighs, then kneels on the floor, focusing in on the blood spatter. _Snap._ Ever since Gibbs joined their group, it's been like this; Abby's always helping him out, and he is not jealous, _why would he be jealous? _It's not like she turned down his suggestion to call the group NC++ (she did) in favor of Feliz Navydad (she did).

He hears feet shuffling, the _whoosh _of paper flying through air and out of the corner of his eye he sees Tony squatting to pick up the trash that didn't quite reach its target. He shakes his head, a half-hearted chuckle escaping him.

"Seriously, what's up, Tim? Timmy?" Tony bends over him and McGee almost bumps his head against Tony's chin whose upside-down contortion is both creepy and amusing.

"Nothing," he whispers, not quite able to convince him because Tony sticks his tongue out at him, _Liar!_, before getting up. "Am not," Tim says, and despite Tony's all-knowing smirk, he takes the hand he's offering and gets up. "We all done here?"

"Sure thing, Probie. Now tell me what's going on." Tony looks around the room, one last time, and then nods toward the exit, leading the way to the parking lot.

"I already told you, Tony. Everything's great –" Tim musters a smile even though Tony doesn't seem to buy that either. He is narrowing his eyes at him, the way Gibbs does it, only he cracks after a while, unable to hold it for long.

"Okay, that's fine, don't tell me – "

"Tony –" Tim sighs, waits for a moment, weighing up the pros and cons of telling him something, _anything, _if not the whole story. "I was in this a capella group in college and –"

"Dudes at MIT can sing?"

Tim rolls his eyes. "Yes, Tony, we have the physical ability to –"

"Okay, _okay, _just checking. Go on."

"—and so I liked this girl Louisa, who was in _the Helicoids_ with me, and I thought she liked me too, but then she went and –" He takes a deep breath, old memories hitting him full force. "She was supposed to sing with me. And then this guy Johan shows up, and –"

"She didn't?"

"She didn't."

There's a pause before Tony speaks, a hand on Tim's shoulder as they come to a stop in front of the NCIS van. "McApella-Pants, are you trying to say that Gibbs is Johan?"

"Johan?" a voice barks behind them and they both swing around, almost bumping into Gibbs. He narrows his eyes at them, gaze flickering from Tony to Tim, back and forth, and then – _then, _he head slaps them both, scurries off to the other side and gets in the driver seat. _Classic Gibbs. _

Tony reaches for the side door, but then stops, glances back at Tim. "Talk to Abby, McGee."

Tim swallows hard and nods.


	5. Ducky

_2 days earlier_

"Of course I told her a koala a good pet does not make, but Gertrude completely disregarded my advice. _I am telling you, Donald, I have made up my mind. Take it or leave it._" Ducky chuckled darkly, preparing to make the Y-incision. "What do you think, Jonny? Poor animal should not be domesticated, that is certain. I had no other choice but to –"

"Duck?"

The sharp blade is pressed to the man's chest, but Ducky's movement stills and he turns around, flashing a grin Gibbs' way. "Good to see you, Jethro." He doesn't explain the conversation Gibbs has certainly overheard; he doesn't need to. It may be morbid, but Ducky finds that verbal, one-sided connection important. After all, he is speaking for the dead, and so what if they can't answer back?

"Likewise, Duck. Gertrude?"

Ducky smiles to himself, remembering the humid summer evenings of Queensland and the one who stole his heart (then stamped on it harder than a herd of wild buffaloes). "Doctors without borders. Or shall I say, vets without borders, ay?" He chuckles, but Gibbs' skeptical glare is good enough of an indication he has crossed into _no one knows what I'm talking about _territory. He's used to it by now. "Love," he says simply, shrugging a shoulder.

"I see," Gibbs says, one corner of his mouth lifting into a half-smile, half-smirk, which Ducky has come to know very well.

But there is something queer about the way Gibbs' gaze seems to get lost in the distance, fixed on an invisible point on the wall; it sure looks like Gibbs is – _spaced out? _Certain he shouldn't prod, but wanting to do it regardless, Duck takes the few steps to where Gibbs is standing and leans against the autopsy table (the unoccupied one). He casts him a look, and takes the plunge. "Have you asked her out yet?"

"Pardon?" Gibbs looks perplexed, but there's a definite glee in his eyes that cannot be missed (nor misinterpreted).

Duck holds back the sigh, and the _I knew it. _At least until he knows more; _then, _he can take liberties and tease Gibbs all he wants. _Ah, Anthony, if you can see me now. _"Caitlin, who else? You know, Gibbs, mother has recommended this new Italian place, _Fubini's. _I think it takes after the mathematician; some nasty thing, Jethro – double integrals, if I remember correctly –"

"—I'll keep that in mind, Duck, but I'm not –"

Ducky laughs. For someone with great investigative skills, Gibbs can be quite _dense _sometimes. "That's alright. I have always felt like you'd make a good –"

"Duck! I'm not – _we're _not – "

Ducky tilts his head to the side, _you're an idiot, _he is thinking, but decides not to put it in so many words. Instead, he pats Gibbs on the shoulder, murmurs, "Oh Jethro." _Who are you kidding?_

Gibbs waits a beat, and shrugs. "Do you think she knows?"

Ducky giggles because that's as close to a confession as he'll get. "No. But – " He pauses, gathering his thoughts, filtering – for once – what he'll say. Because he doesn't want to meddle with – _well, _he's already in too deep, and besides, Gibbs is raising his eyebrows in question for him to continue. "She likes you too. You can tell..."

The smile that spreads across his face makes Ducky smile in return. "Jethro, just – don't wait too long."

"You mean longer than two years?"

"Yes, that would be good."

"Noted." Gibbs nods, then chuckles, turning round to leave. "I still need that autopsy report, Duck," he yells on his way out, looking over his shoulder, a grin on his face, that can't be mistaken for anything else.

He turns back to the dead man, a well-known tune on his lips. _This thing. Called love. I just. Can't handle it._


	6. baby, it's cold outside

_AN: _Thanks for the favs/reviews/follows on this :) Hope you enjoy!

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><p><em>Showtime, folks. <em>

_What has she agreed to? _Backstage, it's a hustle. Abby's doing makeup and Kate can't even muster a laugh at the sight of Tim, making a run for it and a wild Abby following close with eyeliner in hand. _Timothy McGee, they will not see your face! You'll be like an eyeless blob, is that what you want? _

Kate turns around when a gentle hand taps at her shoulder.

"Okay?" Gibbs asks and she nods, even if it's _not _okay and she hasn't been on stage since middle school. She can't believe how nervous she's gotten. She'd be fine if it was the whole butterflies thing in her stomach, but it's more like concrete, cold, heavy concrete, weighing her down, rooting her to her spot, it's _so _–

"Kate? What's wrong?"

Only now does she notice the way his fingers run up and down her forearm, soothing her, the look of concern on his face. It takes her aback, the realization that he _cares _(and she's being silly right now), that he's willing to dump the grumpy demeanor and replace it with – _sweetness. _"It's fine, I'm fine – it's just, I'm a bit nervous –"

"You want to run it again?" he asks, hand still on her shoulder, and she realizes, with a tiny dose of horror, that she's growing accustomed to this, to him being present by her side, and just being _there _– physically. _Wow, _she's silly.

"Too loud in here," she says, shaking her head. She looks around, snorts at the sight of Tony ogling Tim's makeup, and Abby twisting his ear, _You're next, DiNozzo. _Kate sighs. "I'm nervous – I think I'll mess it up –"

"Nah, you'll do great, Katie," he says, and it seems effortless; he sure has got faith in her (even when she doesn't believe it herself).

– something catches her ear, though. "Katie?"

"Hmm?" Gibbs glances at her, a look of innocence on his face, but it doesn't take much to notice he's blushing. Kate giggles – on the inside – because she never thought of him as a blusher.

"Not supposed to do that." She raises an eyebrow, and he averts her gaze, looking down. _Gibbs, smitten? Excuse me? _"But I mean – it's _okay," _ she says, fingers brushing against his by accident. "I kind of like it. Just – don't tell, DiNozzo..."

He looks up, a smile tugging at his lips. "Noted."

She bites her lip. "Do you think we can find someplace quiet? Give it another try?"

He doesn't give her a proper response; instead, he takes her hand and leads her out of the room and into the hallway. They walk a short way before she figures where they're headed. "Gibbs! It's cold outside!"

"I know," he murmurs, his voice a nice velvet, a hot chocolate against her skin, – it's _that _bad, she's making up metaphors – as he pushes the exit door open. "Thought might help set the mood."

Kate laughs. Trust Gibbs to take a very literal approach to setting the mood. "I'm sure we would have been fine inside."

He shrugs, a playful smile on his lips. "Not as fun."

"Giiibs. I'm freezing. Come on, let's just –"

He doesn't let her finish – he simply starts singing, _her part, _nonetheless, and the rasp in his voice makes her swallow hard because, _man, _isn't he good. She figures a little too late she's been gaping and his grin is unforgiving; she shakes her head and joins in, a little timid at first, but growing more confident with each line of the song, with every playful exchange between them (and what do you know, it really _is _cold outside).

As if sensing that, Gibbs reaches for her hands, taking them in his and while the combined warmth is not enough, it certainly is – _something. _She would think holding hands with Gibbs would be awkward, but it's not, and Kate doesn't know if it's because they are the characters or because the characters are them and –

_Wow, _now he's twirling her, his voice a riveting murmur in her ear (_beautiful, what's your hurry?)_, his hands – an anchor, which pulls her toward him, her back pressed against his chest. She turns around and finds herself in his arms, still singing the song, but the tune has grown quiet on her lips because he is looking at her as though he really means what he's singing, as though it's not just a performance; and he is _Gibbs_, hopelessly bad with words, but it seems he's found a most apt way to convey a message (if only she's willing to listen). She is.

She doesn't wait till the end – it's not like in the movies – but kisses him smack on the lips as he's still singing, swallows a handful of _darling's _and _baby's _(the ones in the lyrics, not little humans) and feels his arm weave around her waist, pulling her closer, her body flush against his. He is kissing her back, darn it!, and she all but whines when his lips, _oh petty criminals, _jaywalk down the side of her neck, pressing open mouthed kisses there; the effort is _so _consistent, it's almost like he's trying to commit it all to memory. But soon enough his lips are on her mouth again and she doesn't, no, _can't _think. He is nipping on her lip and –

"I knew it!"

Kate turns around in his arms, but his hands are still firm on her hips, and she doesn't leave his embrace, doesn't want to. Abby is grinning at them both, jumping in place – either to keep herself warm, or to release her excitement, which is oozing out of her in waves and words, _oh, _so many words –

"So happy for you guys! But let's go in 'cause we're on in just a couple of minutes. Gibbs! Be careful out there, it's slippery – you don't want to _literally _break a leg, do you? Kate? Why'd you let him take you out here? It's freezing – come on, now, it's warm inside..."


End file.
